Love, Lies and Valentines: Blueberry Point Romance, #6

By D.E. Malone

All is Fair in Love and Bidding Wars

 

When museum curator Maggie Patton learns a rare valentine collection will be auctioned in Minnesota, nothing will stop her from making the cross-country trip to acquire it. As Valentine's Day approaches, she needs the distraction anyway to take her mind off what should have happened over the holiday weekend—a marriage proposal from her ex. Trouble is, someone also has an eye on the prize and he's determined to post the highest bid.

 

One valentine in Lot 23 belonged to Ry Murray's famous distant relative, he's sure of it. As family historian, Ry's obsessed with recovering the long-lost card, but outbidding the woman who's come from Boston seems impossible, unless he convinces her it's better off in his hands than hers.

 

When an eccentric billionaire pays big money to thwart their plans, Maggie and Ry think they're out of luck. But then the gentleman proposes a Cupid's match: spend forty-eight hours together building a convincing courtship and the best performer leaves town with the valentine. The scheme seems like a losing game for Maggie and Ry, but with their hearts on the line, might they win at love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dawn Malone
• Release date: Feb 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781951516185

D.E. Malone

D.E. Malone writes sweet contemporary romances and is the author of the Hearts in Hendricks and Blueberry Point Romance series. She loves traveling to places off the beaten path which inspire the small-town settings in her stories. When she's not writing, she enjoys reading, hiking, and continuing her quest for the holy grail of bakeries. Visit her website at https://www.demalone.com to subscribe to her newsletter or find her on Facebook, Pinterest and Instagram at dmalonebooks.

Book preview

Chapter One

Awretched ice planet .

Maggie Patton leaned forward in her window seat to take in the view of the white landscape below. Descending below the clouds, the plane shuddered with turbulence but Maggie paid it no mind. Her first glimpse of Minnesota from above was anticlimactic, to say the least.

More trees. More snow. Less civilization.

She’d considered driving at one point. Boston to Hendricks, Minnesota, was twenty-three hours, a daunting road trip to many, but she’d been up for the adventure until the guy at Rent-A-Car said he couldn’t guarantee he’d have an SUV available when she’d called to make a reservation. And you’ll want one, believe me, making that trip along the Great Lakes in February, he’d said in an ominous tone.

Have you been to Minnesota before?

Maggie jumped slightly. Next to her, the woman who’d clamped earphones on the minute she’d found her seat three hours ago spoke for the first time.

I have not. She gave her a quick smile before turning toward the window again.

Born and raised, the woman said. You’ve probably never heard of my little town.

Maggie didn’t take the bait, instead waiting for the woman to tell her. She’d enjoyed the solitude of the flight after fighting the crowd at Logan that morning. Extending her peace of mind was high on her list these next four days. She didn’t want to dwell on what should have been happening this weekend.

Two Rivers, the woman offered. Almost two hours north of Duluth. Right on the lake.

Surprised that it sounded familiar, Maggie glanced at her seat mate.

You’ve heard of it? It’s famous for its lighthouse, the woman said. It’s not technically in Two Rivers, but we take credit sometimes for its landmark status. Looks like a candy cane.

Of course. Cora had sent her photos of the lighthouse and the lake, trying to tempt her to make the trip since her college friend moved to Minnesota. It shocked Maggie that Cora had stuck around in the same town this long. Going on more than five years, Maggie thought. The northern winters must have won her over Texas summers.

How far are you from Hendricks?

The woman brightened at finally catching Maggie’s attention.

Oh, not more than fifteen minutes in good weather. What brings you to the North Shore? She clamped her lips together. If you don’t mind me asking.

A valentine. Maggie leaned forward to tuck her book into the leather bag at her feet at the same moment the plane lurched. Her head knocked on the seat in front of her.

Are you all right? The woman’s hand was on her arm in an instant.

Maggie straightened, brushed a stray curl off her forehead, and smiled. Yes, thank you. I’m fine.

My name’s Fran, by the way. I’ve never gotten used to flying. Hate it. I’d rather drive. Did you say a valentine?

I did. She relaxed against the headrest as the plane leveled off again, taking a deep breath. As much as she’d flown for work, the landing was the worst. I’m a museum curator. There’s a valentine collection going up for auction that I have my eye on.

The woman’s eyes bugged behind her blue-rimmed glasses. Museum curator. How fascinating, she said in a low, breathy tone.

Movement below caught Maggie’s attention when she looked again through the window. She pressed her forehead against the glass. Dark shapes raced across the snowy terrain. A herd of deer? Moose, maybe? The sight set her at ease for some reason.

It sounds more interesting than the job actually is most days.

Without a doubt, she loved her job. But the tedium of cataloguing and maintaining records of acquisitions and donations was real. When she traveled, it was a much-needed break to get out of her office. Coordinating workshops and leading an occasional tour gave her the face-to-face interactions she craved. But if she accomplished on this trip what she hoped to, a dream opportunity might be handed to her. Her boss had hinted at a curator-in-residence spot at the Bodleian Libraries at Oxford. The six-month stint would be the highlight of her career so far.

The plane nosed downward as the lights from downtown Duluth came into view. Maggie braced herself with a hand on the armrest. She closed her eyes, said a little prayer for a smooth landing, and resumed chewing her gum to pop the pressure bubbles in her ears.

When the wheels touched down minutes later, Maggie opened her eyes. She rummaged around in her bag for her phone to text Cora while the plane taxied to the terminal.

Touchdown in Duluth. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow!

Cora’s response was instant.

It’s been too long. I’ll leave Minneapolis bright and early. Should be back in Hendricks by dinner.

Perfect. Till then.

The seatbelt light blinked on overhead when the plane lurched to a stop. The cabin came alive with people rising from their seats, overhead bins popping open, the captain thanking everyone for flying. Impatient to be on the move again, Maggie grabbed her bag from the floor and excused herself as she squeezed past Fran to get as far up the aisle as she could before the line stopped moving.

Good luck on getting your hands on that valentine, Fran said with a chuckle. Don’t let anyone get in your way.

I don’t plan to, she called over her shoulder. Safe travels.

Three hours later, Maggie wheeled the rented SUV into the parking lot outside of the Flint Hills Motel. The V in the no vacancy sign blinked like it was on its last breath, but otherwise the single-story motel looked tidy and inviting. Through the large picture window of the front office, a silver-haired woman stood at the counter talking with two people. Maggie couldn’t wait to check in, change into her pajamas, and read. Maybe she could bargain for a packet of tea from the breakfast buffet.

She trudged into the lobby as the couple finished up at the counter and left. The smell of buttered popcorn filled the air, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since grabbing that yogurt parfait at one of the airport kiosks before lunch.

Can I help you? the woman asked, the lenses of her glasses tinted blue from the computer screen she studied before she glanced at Maggie.

I’d like to check in. Maggie Patton.

Lucky for you. You’re the last one to claim the last room.

I did have reservations, didn’t I? I made them weeks ago.

Of course. I meant that everyone else has arrived. Trying to beat the storm, I guess. You’re all set. Room Six.

Behind her, the door opened with a burst of frigid air. Four people crowded into the tiny lobby, lugging bags and one little dog whose nails skittered across the tile floor. Their voices rose above the hostess’s while she pushed a little plastic bag across the counter toward Maggie. The group was so loud she had to lean closer to hear the woman.

Door should already be open, said the woman. Here. I forgot to restock your bathroom. I haven’t had time to breathe, let alone finish prepping the rooms today. Sorry.

The dog jumped on Maggie’s leg, yipping for attention. Distracted, she peeked into the bag. Shampoo, conditioner, lotion.

Open? Strange that the room would be left unlocked. Maggie chalked it up to small-town trust. If she wasn’t so tired, she might say something. Besides, the crowded, noisy lobby grated on her nerves. She shifted her bag to the other arm, grabbed her toiletries bag, and squeezed past the newly arrived guests.

Outside, the crisp February air was refreshing as she breathed deeply. A blanket of clouds hung overhead as the moon tried to break through it. Its faint glow did little more than give Maggie a sense that Lake Superior was somewhere across the road. Maggie clicked the lock button on her key fob one more time for good measure as she made her way down the sidewalk to Room Six.

She noted a light was already on in her room as she approached the door. It was a nice touch, turning a light on for guests instead of being greeted by a darkened room. Her alarm had awakened her fourteen hours ago, and her weighted eyelids felt every minute of it.

Give me a pillow and a decent mattress, that’s all I ask, she grumbled to herself as she turned the doorknob and shouldered her way into the room.

The lamp on the dresser was indeed on. To her right, movement caught her attention.

She dropped her bag. Oh!

A shirtless guy lounged across the bed, one arm flung over his head while it rested on the headboard. Startled, he grabbed a pillow to cover himself. To his credit, he looked as shocked as she was.

He cleared his throat.

"I’m a pretty generous guy, but I’m telling you right now: Sharing this bed is not an option."

Chapter Two

Ry Murray thought his night was going to be a quiet one. A good meal at Red’s Tavern, a little basketball on television once he got back to the room. It was nothing extravagant, just a few quiet hours alone in this quaint little motel room.

Instead, a beautiful stranger burst into his room demanding that she sleep in his bed. It was an amusing, somewhat pleasant problem to have, but did it have to happen when the Timberwolves had a guy on the free throw line in double overtime?

Who are you and what are you doing in my bed? she sputtered.

He swung his feet off the mattress and stood. Covering himself with a pillow suddenly felt silly and childish. He flung it back onto the bed.

This is my room. Ry gestured with the remote in his hand as if that proved his point. Possession was nine-tenths of the law, right? I had the key first.

I made reservations weeks ago, she said, lifting her nose. He detected an East Coast accent.

And so did I. He grabbed his wool coat from the back of the chair next to his bed and slipped it on. We should probably settle this in the office.

The woman stared at him open-mouthed for a few seconds, long enough for him to appreciate the wide-set eyes holding him captive. Her movements were fluid, even as she registered shock, slow and deliberate. When she bent to retrieve the paisley blue bag at her feet, the long tendrils of wheat-colored hair slipped over her shoulders like liquid gold.

On television, the crowd erupted as the second of two free throws swished into the basket. He sank back onto the bed as the Bucks’ forward rebounded the ball and drove it down the court.

Are you seriously sitting down again? This needs to be addressed ASAP, she said, gaping at him then the television.

He put his finger up. There was no way he was going to miss this, not with forty-six seconds left on the clock. If only—

I cannot believe this is happening to me, she muttered.

Lady, if you’d let me catch the last few seconds of the game, I’ll be happy to head down there with you—

The doorway was empty. As her figure passed the slit in the curtains, Ry picked up the perfunctory click of her shoes on the sidewalk.

Now the Timberwolves called a time-out.

Ry groaned. What if she sweet-talked her way into getting his room? The place was booked. It wasn’t like they could set him up in another one. Slipping into his boots, he hurried down the sidewalk toward the office.

There’s someone in my room and he needs to leave, she was saying as he came up behind her.

The small lobby was packed with people and one yappy little dog. The woman behind the desk looked positively flustered. For a second, he felt for her. But then concern that he might be roomless at any moment won over.

Let me check the computer and see if we can sort this out, she said.

The woman’s expression grew more grim the longer she stared at her computer. She clicked away on the keyboard, looking down at her fingers, then squinted at the monitor.

Click click. Squint.

Click click click. More squinting. Then she frowned.

Uh-oh.

She looked at the woman who’d just crashed his room.

I’m so sorry for the mix-up, Ms. Patton—

Please, call me Maggie. Did you find my name?

I did. But somehow, you’ve both been assigned—

"To Room Six? How can that